Which was as dangerous – to him – as some of the poisons he’d extracted and refined.

He sat back down at the rickety table in the kitchen area of his workshop, off Canal Street, and opened the dog-eared, battered notebook, the Commandments.

Delivered, in a way, by the hand of God.

Those stone tablets to Moses.

The notebook, with its dozen or so pages of tightly packed sentences – in Billy’s beautiful, flowing cursive writing – described in detail how the Modification should unfold, who should die, when to do what, the risks to avoid, the risks to take, what advantages to seize, how to cope with unexpected reversals. An exact timetable. If Genesis were a how-to guide like the Modification Commandments, the first book of the Bible would read:

Day Three, 11:20 a.m.: Create deciduous trees. Okay, now You have seven minutes to create evergreens …

Day Six, 6:42 a.m.: Time for salmon and trout. Get a move on!

Day Six, noon: Let’s do the Adam and Eve thing.

Which naturally brought to mind Lovely Girl. He pictured her for a moment, face, hair, pure-white skin, then eased away the distracting image the way you’d set aside a precious snapshot of a departed loved one – carefully, out of a superstitious fear of harming your love if you dropped the frame.

Flipping through the pages, he studied what was coming next. Pausing once again to reflect that the Modification was certainly complicated. At various points in the process he’d wondered if it was too much so. But he thought back to the pages of the chapter he’d stolen from the library earlier that day, Serial Cities, recalling all the surprising – no, shocking – information it had revealed.

Experts in law enforcement universally voice the opinion of Lincoln Rhyme that his greatest skill was his ability to anticipate what the criminals he’s pursuing will do next.

He believed that was the quotation; he wasn’t sure, since Chloe Moore, no longer of this earth, had inconsiderately ripped a portion of that passage from the book.

Anticipate …

So, yes, the plan for the Modification had to be this precise. The people he was up against were too good for him to be careless, to miss a cue in any way.

He reviewed plans for the next attack, tomorrow. He memorized locations, he memorized timing. Everything seemed in order. In his mind he rehearsed the attack; he’d already been to the site. He now pictured it, he smelled it.

Good. He was ready.

Then he glanced at his right wrist, the watch. He was tired.

And what, he wondered, was going on with the investigation into the demise of Ms Chloe?

He turned on the radio, hoping for news.